


Chick-Flick Moment

by insominia



Series: I don't understand that reference [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Date Night, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sam Winchester is So Done, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tuxedos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 05:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17781107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Dean wants to do something nice for Cas, but what do you get an angel of the lord to show your appreciation? Enter: Sam, with the great idea of 'how about you ask him if there's anything he wants?' Which is fine until Cas says, 'I want a chick-flick moment.'But Dean said he'd do anything and he intends to deliver.





	Chick-Flick Moment

Unusually, it was Dean who had been sat at the end of the table, pouring over a laptop intently for about three days now, before Sam finally cracked and dropped down into the chair opposite him. "Found us a case?" he asked, but Dean had only looked up in confusion. Sam gestured to the laptop, "a case? Found one?"

"Oh...no, I uh...I wasn't looking for one," came Dean's reply, which would have been enough for Sam. He wouldn't have pried any further had an obvious flush crept into Dean's face and tinged the top of his ears pink with embarrassment.

"So what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"What are you really doing?"

It was a sign of how frustrated Dean was that he relented as quickly as he did. Sam had been prepared for a long back and forth where he slowly coaxed information from his increasingly aggressive brother, so he was surprised when Dean shut the laptop and rested his face in his hands.

" _WannadosomethingniceforCas_ ," he mumbled, so quickly and quietly, it really wasn't a surprise when Sam asked him to repeat it. "I wanna do something for Cas," Dean said, refusing to meet Sam's eye, "something nice. Like a present or something, but I dunno...the hell do you get a freaking angel?"

Sam had left then, leaving Dean to roll his eyes because  _of course_  his brother was going to be no help at all. But Sam returned just a moment later, this time bearing beer. If Dean was going to admit to needing help relationship-wise they needed alcohol.

"What's the occasion?" Sam asked, but Dean had only scoffed.

"No occasion, I just..." the flush again, "I wanted to do something nice for him. I mean the guy doesn't have a birthday or anything and he's..." more flushing, "he's great, Sam, really great and I wanna do something nice for him but...I dunno, it's probably a stupid idea."

Sam thought for a moment, not wanting to point out the obvious that actually it was a good idea and it was nice of Dean to have thought about it, they'd need hard liquor for that kind of talk. In the end, what followed could all be blamed on Sam, for it was him who said, "well...have you asked him?"

"What?"

"Have you asked him if there's anything he would like?"

And there it was, a solution that was so terribly obvious Dean was even more embarrassed for not having thought of it. Helpfully, Castiel was passing by at just that moment and Dean, wanting to capitalise on his brother's good idea called out, "hey, Cas? Is there anything you want? Like...as a gift?" He regretted the question immediately, mostly because Sam was staring at him from across the table and Dean was suddenly  _very_  aware that there were reasons he kept everything about his relationship from his brother. But he'd started now, might as well push through it all. 

Castiel had frozen, turning to look up the steps at the brothers sitting at the end of the table as though they had suddenly sprouted an extra head, or spoken in tongues. "What?"

"I want to get you something or y'know...do something nice for you."

"Our sexual encounters are already satisfying enough-"

"Oh-kay!" Sam called, downing the rest of his beer, "that's my cue to leave."

But he didn't leave fast enough.

"No, you ass, I mean I'd like to do something special or get you a present or something, to say thank you and...y'know...all that."

"Oh," Castiel had said, and the way he had cocked his head to one side and added, "actually there is something," had even given Sam pause on his way out, and despite himself, he turned back to them, curious.

"Anything."

Sam was used to seeing Castiel smile more these days, but it was still a surprise and a little disconcerting to see him grin, a proper, shit-eating grin that he turned on Dean. "I'd like a chick-flick moment."

Both Dean and Sam had made the same kind of half choke, half laugh sound, but Castiel didn't look away from Dean.

"Uh...ok," Dean mumbled, eventually, "I'll get on that," and he slinked away.

Castiel was obviously very pleased with himself, Sam couldn't help but be amused. "Hey, Cas, do you even know what a chick-flick moment is?"

"No. But I have observed how your brother shies away from them and I know they involve affection. Besides, I enjoy coaxing Dean beyond his comfort zone-"

"And I'm done," Sam cried, and aware that Castiel was laughing at him, he disappeared towards his room.

* * *

Unfortunately for Sam, his brother and best friend were not particularly discreet in their affections with each other. Not that he had seen them exchange more than a particularly flirtatious kiss, but they were prone to teasing each other about their bedroom antics. On one hand, this meant Sam knew far,  _far_  more than he ever wanted to about his brother's proclivities, on the other, it meant that he knew for a fact that after a month, Dean had yet to act on Castiel's request for a 'chick-flick moment'. Castiel himself hadn't said anything about it and Sam certainly wasn't going to bring it up. Secretly, he wondered if the notion had broken Dean and whether he was just going to pretend that the whole conversation hadn't taken place.

"I'm going out," Dean announced one morning, too early in the morning. Sam hadn't even managed his run yet, what the hell was Dean doing up and how was he even remotely coherent? Sam rubbed his eyes, as though convinced this was a mirage, for there was no way Dean would be awake, articulate and dressed at this hour. Yet, there he was, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder as though he were about to stroll into a vamp nest and gank anything that moved.

"What? Dean, where are you going?"

"I'm going out," he said, again, not quite meeting his brother's eye, "I won't be back for a while, do me a favour," he pressed an envelope onto the war room table, "make sure Cas gets this," he checked his watch, "in two hours. Not before, ok?"

A chill had settled into Sam's very soul, the bunker was warm and yet Sam was shivering as though the blood in his veins had turned to ice. Dean was leaving. "Dean," he managed to croak, but still, Dean didn't look at him.

"Just do this for me, ok Sammy? I'll see you soon."

"Dean!" Sam called again, unable and unwilling to hide the note of desperation that had crept into his voice. But Dean either didn't notice or chose to ignore it, making a hasty exit towards the garage, leaving Sam with the rather ominous looking envelope and even more ominous silence.

* * *

As an angel of the lord, even one without wings and less than the average amount of grace, Castiel did not require sleep. It had caused issues in the earliest days of his relationship with Dean, especially after that first night, they shared a bed. At the time, Castiel had wondered if they could possibly recover from the hurt Dean had felt at waking up to an empty bed even though Castiel had only gone as far as the library to read up on their latest case. They had recovered, but now Castiel did not leave the room unless Dean told him otherwise, which granted, happened rarely. Not that Castiel minded, he had, after all, taken great comfort in watching over Dean as he slept, even before they had 'gotten their heads out of their asses' as Sam had once put it.

It had not been unusual then for Dean to tell Castiel that he wanted to sleep alone, just for one night. Unexpected perhaps, but not unusual and after assuring himself that nothing was wrong, Castiel disappeared into his own room and fell into the most dangerous of pastimes; Netflix.

He did not emerge until well into the following morning. Dean would not have asked for space without a good reason for wanting it, so Castiel decided to allow him that space. Besides, if Dean changed his mind he knew where Castiel's room was. He passed Dean's room and was surprised to see the door open, the bed freshly made, untouched, as though it hadn't been slept in at all. Castiel frowned, which deepened when he emerged in the bunker's library and saw Sam, sitting at the longest table, a bottle of beer beside him. He was dressed for a run, but he clearly hadn't made it out of the bunker and it wasn't like Sam to drink this early. He looked up when Castiel stepped up to him, but his eyes swiftly dropped to the floor, and he took another hefty swig from the bottle.

"Sam?" Castiel asked, the concern obvious in his voice, "are you alright? Where's Dean?"

Sam winced at the question and seemed to be steeling himself before he could respond. "Cas," he breathed, hoarsely, "I'm sorry, man. Dean left this morning."

Castiel's brows furrowed to the point it was starting to hurt. He didn't understand. "For a case?" he asked, but he knew that if it was a case he would have said something and he would have taken Sam even if he didn't take Castiel.

Sam took a deep breath and slipped an envelope across the table towards Castiel, "he asked me to give you this...he asked me to wait but...Jesus, I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel took the envelope, more puzzled than anything. The letter inside did little to alleviate his confusion. Sam didn't realise he was holding his breath, waiting for the reaction. He didn't know what Dean had written, he hadn't gone as far as reading the letter, so he could only wait for Cas to either storm out of the bunker, furiously, or perhaps he would be devastated and Sam would have to comfort him which was a little beyond anything he really wanted to be doing today.

"I don't understand," Castiel breathed and Sam closed his eyes, wanting to be anywhere else but here.

"What does he say?"

"I'm not sure, but it's written in quatrains."

"What?"

"It's a type of poetic rhyming scheme-"

"No, I know what a quatrain is, I mean...what? He's written you a  _poem_?"

"It seems so."

Sam took the letter from him and cast a glance over it, feeling the beer roll in his stomach.

' _I'm sorry I couldn't be there,_  
_to give you this face to face,_  
_I've gone on ahead of you,_  
_to prepare a special place._

_I know I don't always say it,_  
_I know sometimes I'm a dick,_  
_but, angel, if you'll let me,_  
_I'll make you feel like you're in a chick flick._

_So meet me when you're ready,_  
_but please don't drive too fast,_  
_coz we've all the time in the world,_  
_and I want the night to last.'_

Dean had written a poem. It was terrible, awful, too sappy for words and the pentameter was all over the place, but Dean had written a poem. "He wants you to meet him somewhere," Sam mumbled, wishing he was drunker. He checked the envelope and sure enough there was a flyer for a hotel Sam knew to be a few hours away, and much fancier than anywhere Dean had ever stayed before. "Son of a bitch," he groaned.

Castiel placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "are you alright?"

"I thought he'd left you! I thought...and he's written you a poem?  _Dean_. Dean wrote you a poem!"

Castiel was smiling now, taking the letter back into his hand and reading the words with a new understanding. "Chick flick moment," he said, sagely, as though he knew exactly what was going on. Sam would have corrected him but there was something about the angel's soft smile that stopped him and in the end, he said nothing, seeing Castiel off with a friendly wave, regretting his choice of beer for breakfast. Maybe if he went back to bed he could wake up in an hour, start the day again and pretend that none of this had happened and he'd simply overslept.

* * *

'The Woodland Court Hotel and Spa' was not the kind of place Dean Winchester usually stayed. For a start, the rooms were on the inside and in lieu of a car park, this place had gardens. Plural. Castiel was beginning to think he'd come to the wrong place but after double checking the letter (mostly an excuse to read Dean's poem again) and the brochure he was assured that he wasn't mistaken. Somewhere inside, Dean was waiting for him.

A valet parked the car for him, leaving Castiel free to admire the decor that almost reminded him of heaven. Heaven as the humans imagined it anyway, all high ceilings, white walls, crisp edging, and gold chandeliers. There was even a harp playing somewhere, scratch that, there was an  _actual_  woman playing an  _actual_  harp in the lobby. Dean really had gone all out, Castiel was starting to regret the shabbiness of his trench coat, he was a step away from bringing the tone down.

"Welcome to The Woodland Court Hotel and Spa," a smartly dressed gentleman said as Castiel approached the front desk, "how may I help you?"

"I...I think I'm meeting someone here," Castiel said, uncertain, but he'd scanned the lobby and seen no sign of Dean.

The man however smiled, knowingly and when he said, "Winchester?" Castiel felt what little anxiety had gripped him leave. Dean had even checked in under his own name. "You're in the Camellia Suite," he continued, slipping a keycard across the desk to Castiel. "Fifth floor, second on your left." He positively beamed at Castiel, it was almost uncomfortable, so he took the card and with a polite nod ducked away into the elevator.

* * *

A bed was a bed and a room a room as far as Castiel, or indeed, any other angel was concerned. It had no bearing and had never had bearing on him where the Winchesters had chosen to lay their heads. Occasionally, Sam and Dean had bemoaned their choice of accommodations, longing for a room where the wallpaper wasn't peeling and the smell of the last occupant lingered. For his part, Castiel had never had cause to consider their surroundings, unless they were particularly awful in which case he feared the brothers contracting a transmittable disease just from stepping on the carpet.

That was before he stepped into the 'Camellia Suite'. The door had barely closed behind him and he knew that he was ruined for cheap motels forever. Even the bunker seemed dingy by comparison. He briefly wondered how Sam and Dean could stand it, but all those thoughts were lost as he took in his surroundings. All was soft whites and pale pink to match the camellia plant in the corner. There was no overhead light as though a standard lightbulb would be too intrusive in such a room, instead, there were scattered candles and soft lamps, not that they were needed right now, the floor length windows letting all the light the room needed, looking down onto a particularly flowery garden complete with an apiary. Castiel went to the window and smiled at the thought Dean had put into all of this. But looking around the room again, he frowned, where  _was_  Dean?

As though responding to his thought there was a knock at the door and Castiel was already smiling as he crossed the room to open it. The smile faltered when he found that it was not Dean standing there. "Can I help you?"

The young woman wore a white tunic with the hotel's logo on it and the brightest customer service smile Castiel had ever seen. "Mr. Winchester sent me up to help get you ready," she said, cheerily, gesturing for him to move aside, "I'll just get set up."

She carried what looked like an extremely oversized suitcase in one hand, though its obvious weight seemed to pose no issue for her.

"Get me ready for what?" Castiel asked.

"It's a surprise," she said, opening the case and beginning the relatively swift job of unfolding the contraption within it, "if you just want to strip down to your underwear, by the time you're done I'll be ready. Mr. Winchester said you've probably never had a massage before, so we're just going to do your back, neck, and shoulders today."

She had the bed all set up complete with particularly fluffy looking towels in no time at all, but Castiel still hadn't moved.

"I don't believe my muscles need stimulation," Castiel frowned, but the girl didn't bat an eyelid.

"He said you'd say something like that," she grinned, "down to your underwear please."

* * *

He wasn't sure whether it was the girl's professionalism or whether Dean had warned her, probably at great length, at how unaware of certain social situations Castiel was, but she was very patient with him. Eventually, he had indeed stripped and, as directed, laid down on the bed. He allowed her to adjust his limbs so that he was more comfortable, was quite grateful even when she pulled a particularly large towel to cover him and didn't protest the lighting of scented candles, even though the faint aroma of camellia was quite enough already, in Castiel's opinion.

At the first, tentative touch of the girl's fingers along his shoulder blades, Castiel flinched, gritted his teeth and resigned himself to the ridiculous human notion that touch could in some way improve his wellbeing. Five minutes later, he allowed some of the tension to seep from him, thinking that actually, it wasn't that bad. Ten minutes after that, he wondered why nobody had ever told him he could take care of his vessel in such a way as firm fingers worked out kinks he'd been carrying since the apocalypse. The candles no longer seemed too much, in fact, the scent mingled perfectly with the oil the girl used and Castiel was reminded of days long gone when he himself had anointed prophets with such substances. He had never been so aware of the vessel he occupied, wondering, idly, if the girl could sense the extra strain the body had been put under in its time as Castiel's host. Not that he thought too much about it, or in fact anything at all, his mind turning itself over to the pleasant sensations she was exerting upon him and going satisfyingly blank. He wished Dean was with him.

He wondered why Sam and Dean hadn't partaken of this kind of thing before, or why they hadn't recommended he do so. Considering how vigorous their day jobs were, this was a far more appealing and satisfactory resolution to the rigors of a hunt compared to a lukewarm bath in a cheap motel or reclining on lumpy upholstery. She was at his left hand now, rubbing circles into his palm, gently clicking the joints of his fingers and how had he never noticed how much tension he carried in his hands? He felt like he had been mistreating his vessel all these years, he felt like he wanted these moments to last forever, he felt like he was floating. 

Too soon after she had started the girl swiped her hands over his neck for the last time. The passage of time had lost all meaning and Castiel couldn't say if he'd been lying there for a minute or an hour. Probably more than a minute given how relaxed his vessel seemed. She lay a towel across his bare back, gently pressing it down to soak up the remnants of any oil. Castiel didn't want to get up, he didn't want to move, he could happily lay there under the towels until the hotel manager asked him to leave and charged Dean a hefty fine for missing checkout. But eventually and reluctantly, he sat up, shifting himself into an armchair, taking the towel with him, so the girl could pack away her bed. She placed a glass of water beside him and he let her words wash over him, barely paying attention to her advice, after all, it wasn't as though he were intending to engage in strenuous activity any time today.  _Well_. Not particularly strenuous.

"Mr. Winchester asked me to give you this," she said, catching Castiel's attention for the first time since he'd gotten off the massage couch. She was holding out a gift box, wide and slim, wrapped elegantly in a black ribbon. There was a note attached to it in Dean's scrawl, 'wear this - restaurant 6pm.' "Have a nice evening," the girl called as she wrangled the case out of the door, leaving Castiel in the room with plenty of time to prepare for his date, which would hopefully mean he'd get to see Dean soon.

* * *

Castiel rarely considered what he wore. Clothes and fashion were not high on his priorities, or in fact even on his radar of things that should be priorities. He didn't quite understand the contents of the package Dean had left him, but he had identified it as a tuxedo and knew enough of popular culture now to understand the connotations of wearing such a thing.

The bow tie almost proved to be his end. It was almost six and after several attempts and an unsuccessful phone call to Sam he'd given up on the whole thing and left it hanging around his neck, which, judging from the reaction of the woman in the lift had been a good call. He only hoped Dean would react the same way.

When he stepped into the restaurant, the maitre d' was clearly waiting for him, and escorted him to the corner of the room, towards the patio doors where a table overlooking the gardens waited for him and beside it, at last, was Dean.

It was a strange experience. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Castiel had last seen Dean, they had gone longer without seeing each other. They had gone longer having intentionally and unintentionally disappeared off the grid, showing up after a couple of weeks with mumbled apologies and promises they both knew wouldn't be kept. But, seeing Dean, there at that moment, standing beside their table, illuminated by the warm glow of sunset and hanging lanterns, Castiel felt like they had been separated by an unholy amount of time.

"I've missed you, so much," he breathed, all but falling into Dean's arms, feeling as though he'd come home as Dean's warmth came around him.

Dean pressed his forehead against Castiel's, his eyes seeming to almost burn green in the candlelight. "Hey, you asked for a chick flick moment."

"I said a moment, Dean, I didn't ask for a trilogy and a syndicated television series."

Dean laughed, long and hard and it was the most beautiful sound Castiel had heard in an age. So he allowed Dean to pull back and took a moment to appreciate how well Dean pulled off the tuxedo. Dean was gorgeous whatever he wore, regardless of Castiel's feelings on the matter, it was as much a fact as the sunrise every day or the tides turning. But the tuxedo was something else. From the way Dean was looking over at him, the feeling was mutual. It was a good thing he had arranged to meet Castiel in the restaurant, neither of them would have gotten out of the room if he'd come to the door. Neither of them seemed to be moving towards the table, just staring at the other unashamedly. If the waiter hadn't appeared with their starters they might never have moved. But he lay their plates on the table and eventually, reluctantly, they both slipped into opposite seats, Dean holding his hand out and Castiel taking it in his own, a rare occurrence for a public setting.

The air between them was charged with a strange sense of anticipation. Both of them aware that they hadn't seen each other for a night, but it felt like days, weeks even, surely they had been separated for months and it had never felt this long. Castiel found it difficult to tear his eyes from Dean, he seemed to be radiating beauty. Not just because of the tuxedo, though that certainly helped, it was in his eyes which seemed brighter, his smile was wider and his soul was positively shining. The luxury of their surroundings that Castiel had spent so long appreciating faded into insignificance compared to the emeralds right in front of him. The food was going cold between them, but neither of them moved to do anything about it. Neither of them took their eyes off the other, neither spoke, they just stared at each other for the longest time smiling. If for some reason either of them had glanced away, they would have seen that half the dining room was staring at them, mostly in admiration, some in outright jealousy, but all of them appreciative of the bond that was written between them for everyone to see. 

Castiel did not need to eat, but he had been on earth for so long that he could appreciate the difference between foods, and whatever Dean had ordered for them was fine enough to impress even an angel's limited taste buds. The starter, something with prawns, was cleared to make way for steak and after that, pie. Because of course there was pie. Castiel didn't begrudge the time spent eating, if only because Dean seemed to be enjoying it so much, and Dean so rarely gave himself over to nice things, however much he deserved them. That said, by the time Dean had speared the last mouthful of pastry, dragging it through the cherries that had spilled onto the plate, Castiel was positively impatient, one knee trembling under the table as he waited for Dean to wash it all down with a beer.

"Can we go back to the room now, please?" Castiel asked, with strained politeness that betrayed how anxious he was to get out of his tuxedo. Or rather, get Dean out of his tuxedo.

But, Dean looked up in surprise and smiling said, "Cas, this is just the beginning, C'mon, lemme show you something." He stepped up, holding his hand out to Castiel, who despite his impatience, took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Dean tucked his arm around Castiel's, surprising him again, Dean was never one for public displays of affection of any kind. But then, Dean was also not one for fancy hotels and tuxedoes. With a gentle touch to the small of Castiel's back, Dean guided him off the patio, into the gardens and they fell into an easy stride, walking under strings of fairy lights, admiring each other more than the flowers. Castiel did most of the talking, and Dean let him. Sometimes Castiel marveled that they hadn't run out of things to discuss but there was always something new, and when there wasn't, Dean could lose himself for hours listening to Castiel talk about the things he'd seen in his long,  _long_  life. Castiel didn't mind, nothing in his life felt real until it had been shared with Dean.  

Castiel allowed himself to be guided around the gardens until they came upon a small crowd of people, milling around beneath even more fairy lights this time accompanied by the tell-tale sounds of a string quartet.

"What's this?" he asked Dean, who was positively beaming at him.

"This is your chick flick moment," Dean replied, moving to face Castiel and giving him a polished bow, "dance with me, Cas."

"Dean," Castiel said with the faintest hint of admonishment, "you don't dance."

Dean snorted and waved a hand dismissively, "yeah I think we're past the point of things I don't normally do. C'mon..." He stepped closer to Castiel, wrapping one arm around his waist and said again, softer now, "dance with me, Cas."

Some of the books Castiel had read since coming to earth had described someone as 'melting' into their partner, a situation Castiel found wholly unlikely given that humans were incapable of such a thing. But there was no other word for what he did now, he let his head fall forward onto Dean's shoulder and  _melted_  against him, as Dean's hands came to rest on his hip and guided him to where a handful of other couples were dancing. Not that Castiel noticed, there was nothing, nothing except the warmth of Dean's body against his, the firm press of his hands on his hips and the music which might have been playing in his head for surely nothing could be this beautiful. 

It turned out Dean could dance. "I learned off YouTube," Dean whispered into Castiel's ear, practically hearing the thought processes, as Castiel wondered how Dean had managed to spin him so effortlessly when Castiel himself had so little experience of dancing. "Get ready," Dean muttered, his eyes flicking towards the sky and Castiel instinctively tensed, wondering what was coming.

Despite having little pop culture reference regarding 'chick flicks' and having already admitted to Sam that he didn't know what it was he was asking Dean for, there was no doubt in Castiel's mind that  _this_  was his chick flick moment. Everything else had been a pleasant prologue. The music peaked, the strings clashing together in a melodious crescendo, somewhere above them the first whistles and cracks of fireworks exploded against the night sky and on the ground, Dean hooked his leg around Castiel's, dipped him lower than was probably safe and after a moment of holding him there, leaned in and for the first time that night kissed him.

It may have been a romantic notion that they could have stayed like that all night but practically, Castiel's back was hurting, the blood was rushing to his head and Dean's wrists were protesting at having to hold Castiel steady. In the end, the kiss probably lasted less than a minute, but as Dean helped Castiel up, pulling him under one arm so they could look up at the fireworks, the feeling of it would last a lifetime. Civilisations might have crumbled, entire continents might have been reclaimed by the sea, heaven and hell would have faded into obscure memory and Castiel would still remember Dean Winchester's lips on his, under exploding stars while violins sang.

It was baffling to him that everyone around them seemed to not to have noticed, having paid no attention to the two men when there were fireworks to watch. As though Castiel's world hadn't just been turned upside down, not because Dean had kissed him, that was nothing new, but because he had done so so publicly and in such a setting, the kind of thing he would normally hate, just because Castiel had asked for it. It occurred to him that actually, he hadn't seen any of the fireworks, Castiel had been staring at Dean for the duration, practically drinking the sight of him, illuminated by shimmering flickers of colour. Dean felt the gaze upon him and he looked down, finding himself staring right into bright blue depths.

"Cas."

"Dean.  _Please_ , can we go back to the room now?"

"Sure, Cas," he smiled, but it became almost a yelp as Castiel gripped his wrist tightly and practically yanked him from the patio. Those around them were still too caught up in the fireworks to notice, and even if they had, neither Castiel or Dean would have cared.

* * *

The room was bathed in moonlight. At some point room service had come in to light the candles while they'd been at dinner but Dean had blown them out, possessively wrapping an arm around Castiel and promising that not even the stars were allowed to look upon him. That sentiment did not extend towards pulling the curtains across the windows, Castiel wanted to see the gardens, Dean did not object. Besides, they were on the fifth floor, nobody would be able to see them, and if they did, well in the worst case Castiel could blind them.

Their tuxedos lay, strewn across the floor, discarded in a flurry of tangled limbs and fevered kisses the very moment the door had clicked shut behind them. They had made use of every inch of the spacious suite before they had finally, finally crashed into the bed together. They had not stayed in the bed, falling out accidentally, ending up right beside the window which is where they remained, basking in a shared afterglow, both of them facing each other and playing with interlinked fingers.

Dean looked beautiful in the moonlight and from the way Dean was looking at him, with open adoration, Castiel knew he felt the same way. "I love you," Castiel murmured, watching Dean's hand trace lazy patterns over his own. It was always Castiel who made such declarations first, not that Dean didn't share the sentiment, he just wasn't the first to say it.

"Right there with you, Cas." But then, Dean hesitated, just for a second but given how blissful they had looked just a moment ago, Castiel saw it immediately even though it had been little more than a glimmer of trepidation flickering through Dean's eyes.

"What is it?"

Dean sighed, unable to look at him for a moment, "was it ok?"

Castiel dropped Dean's hand and hooked a finger under Dean's chin, gently but firmly forcing him to look up at him. "It was perfect, I appreciate all the effort you went to and I know how uncomfortable elements of today must have made you."

Dean gave a small shrug, as much as he could, lying on his side on the floor, but he flushed a little, "it wasn't so bad."

Both Sam and Dean...and in fact almost every person they had ever come into contact with had said Castiel leaned towards unintentional bluntness with his words, so he considered his next thoughts carefully. He didn't want Dean to think for a moment that today had been anything less than wonderful, and he knew that Dean was fragile enough that even the smallest criticism would be taken as a monumental failure.

"You don't have to go to such effort to prove your affection, though," Castiel said, softly, "I have thoroughly enjoyed today, but it’s important you know that you are enough for me. I do not require grand gestures to prove your feelings,” he locked his fingers with Dean’s again, “you show me every day and I do not need presents or gestures to confirm it.”

Dean was blushing such a deep red Castiel could see it even in the limited light, “Cas, don’t go saying stuff like that,” he mumbled and Castiel chuckled, amused that after everything Dean had put on for that day, he was still embarrassed in the face of Castiel’s unrelenting devotion.

Castiel grinned, “is this too much a chick-flick moment?” he asked, innocently.

Dean chuckled and buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck, “you keep talking like that and we’re gonna end up in a whole new genre entirely.”

“Next time I will ask for a ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ moment.”

Dean rolled onto his back, laughing, “Cas, do you even know what that is?”

Castiel rolled with him, his eyes bright and innocent, he looked positively  _angelic_ , “I don’t. You’ll have to show me.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
